


Revert

by ezlebe



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence 4x22, Confessions, M/M, Minor Jim Gordon/Leslie Thompkins, Paralytic Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ezlebe/pseuds/ezlebe
Summary: “I need your help,” Lee says, somehow both harried and brazen as she takes Oswald's elbow, leaning in close with a fixed smile he’s come to learn is actually a threat. "Just for a moment.”“I’m actually quite – ” Oswald’s eyes cross as he looks down at the hand suddenly just under his nose, a rag held within it that’s all terrible, too strong odor and quickly making everything a little fuzzy and sick.“Bus – busy… y-you…?”"Sorry about this, Penguin."
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 11
Kudos: 106





	Revert

“Oswald?”

Oswald squeezes at the head of his cane under his hand, turning at the waist while loosening the blade. “A lot of nerve _you_ have, showing up at my door.”

“I know,” Lee says, somehow both harried and unabashed; she takes his elbow, leaning in close with a fixed smile he’s come to learn is actually a threat. “But I need your help, just for a moment.”

“I’m actually quite – ” Oswald’s eyes cross as he looks down at the hand suddenly just under his nose, a rag held within it that’s all terrible, too strong odor and quickly making everything a little fuzzy and sick.“Bus – busy… y-you…?”

"Sorry about this, Penguin."

* * *

Oswald comes to slowly, only knowing that something is cold and gritty under his cheek.

“– you do that!?”

He reflexively tries to move away from the shout, only to blearily realize that he’s… tied up? He can’t move at all and even his eyelids are resistant to lifting, though they do itch fierce, and everything else below that is worryingly _numb_.

“You know he’s got a bad leg!”

Oh, if course: _Ed_. Although, he usually likes to put on a show, which is hard to do with the victim unable to open their eyes. He must have tried to do something new and it backfired.

“I needed to make a point,” Lee says, firm and typically aloof as she joins the conversation. The mere sound of her voice reverses all assumption with a somewhat bewildering and staggering memory that it wasn’t Ed at all, but _her_ , who had shown up at his own home and kidnapped him.

Oswald tries to think of any reason _she_ would attack him – he’s left the Narrows entirely alone since Ed’s ego trip, concentrating on Butch and the bombs, doing his best not to think about _erratic loons_ or their lack of fidelity. He finally manages to get his eyes open, but his sight is less than perfect – everything seems to be a green smudge, which he can only assume is Ed. He keeps blinking, then realizes he’s being moved, the world slowly shifting in a discomfiting out of body manner until the cold has left his cheek and the green is only taking up half his vision.

“Make it without Oswald,” Ed snaps, voice too loud and too close; he seems to be trying to get Oswald to sit up, but he’s failing spectacularly, instead shaking him in a manner vaguely nauseating.

Lee exhales a sigh, infuriatingly patient, as her heels clack across the concrete. “He’s the point, Ed.”

Oswald’s eyes clear enough that he can make out that _Jim_ is across the room, trapped in some… giant press the size of a table. He’s looking straight at Oswald with a familiar tired, unamused look in his eyes.

“It’s a stupid one!” Ed says, his voice hard but his words far too quick to be entirely confident. “I've already proven I care more about you than him.”

Oswald closes his eyes again briefly, a low ache striking through his chest in a way that he wishes could be numbed, too. He wonders if he’ll be next to go in the press, and thinks the feeling of slowly being crushed will probably be familiar.

“Oh, did you?” Lee asks, practically scoffing with laughter, derisive and judging in a tone that is hardly the expected response to the declaration. “Because I seem to remember your excuse was he was going to rip us off, not to mention you left him with his share of the money.”

“I burned it!” Ed snaps, standing in a furor and effectively letting Oswald fall like a forgotten doll back onto the concrete; he practically squeaks in the next beat, dropping again to Oswald’s side. “ _Oswald_.”

“Are we forgetting you pointed him in the direction of those deeds?”

Ed goes quiet for a pair of moments, then abruptly laughs far too loud. “They’re worthless.”

“Are they?” Lee says, her voice raising as real anger breaks through the tight control of her previously even tone. “Having control of numerous slums across the city seems like pretty damned good deal for the Penguin!”

Oswald glances up briefly, catching Ed’s pinching face while the silence drags out into something awkward; ah, so that _had_ been on purpose, not simply Ed’s big mouth. How very... _helpful_ of him. He peeks back to Lee with a start, abruptly remembering that he had left those deeds out, stacked and labeled on the edge his desk for a time when he’ll have less Butch and more power. He dearly hopes that Lee didn’t taken any time to slip into his house and snoop after knocking him out, otherwise he’s really going to have nothing to show for that mistake of a heist.

The worry is promptly forgotten at a sudden tingling at the edge of his scalp that bolts downward to his fingertips, every nerve in between flaring up. He squeezes his eyes shut until it fades, then realizes his sense of touch is coming back, most uncomfortably with the edge of his palm awkwardly wedged next to his thigh and the harsh, enduring ache of his ankle, which is a mix of good and awful.

“What's wrong with him - why can’t he move?” Ed asks quietly, still kneeling next to Oswald. He’s got a hand under Oswald’s head, the pressure of it warm, while the other is just barely detectable around his wrist. “Did you give him a paralytic? That’s low for you.”

“I thought I’d sink to your level,” Lee says dryly, exhaling a deep breath and reaching for a yellow box that is, apparently, some kind of button for the table press.

Oswald peers down the awkward angle of his body to watch the press raise, seeing Jim’s shoulders shake while he starts to take deeper and deeper breaths, and realizes Jim’s been stuck under the weight of the press for at least the entire conversation. He hears his own breath get a bit huffier, sees his chest expanding, and realizes it’s the best he can do for a laugh – Jim seems to know it, too, judging by the hard stare he’s giving Oswald while he staggers out from under the press.

“It’ll wear off,” Lee says, turning to Jim and feeling out his chest, then his pelvis, pressing at odd places while he winces under the attention.

Ed exhales a scoff that is nearly a growl. “You didn’t have to throw him, either.”

“I didn’t. It barely even counted as _dropping_ him,” Lee says, looking over her shoulder, eyes dipping briefly down to Oswald with an uncomfortably clinical steadiness, until she looks back up to Ed with an affable tone like acid. “And I certainly didn’t try to break every bone in his body.”

“I need to get to the GCPD,” Jim wheezes, starting forward in an uneven step to hobble past Lee.

Ed inhales just as the both of them make to pass. “Lee.”

“ _Ed_ ,” Lee counters, hesitating a pair of beats before she leans down, reaching out to tap gently at Ed’s temple. “Despite what you’ve got up here acting against you and… And everything I’ve done to keep it that way…” She exhales a sigh that’s really more of a tired laugh, glancing over her shoulder at the door that Jim just left through. “For both of us – for _all_ of us, you need to think about what you truly want, _who_ you want, and how… How we both know I can never be that person.” She goes quiet then, looking steadily at Ed, then suddenly offers a pressed smile. “No matter how you dress me up.”

Oswald stares bemused, a little uncomfortable, then dubious epiphany strikes with a brief glance down the front of Lee’s purple coat. She can’t possibly be implying – _No_ , Ed simply _likes_ purple, and it’s appropriate enough for this self-styled queen of the destitute.

…But Lee did bring him here, didn’t she? And to evidently distract Ed from _her_ one-time fiancé. He glances to Ed incredulously – because it has certainly worked, hasn’t it – and feels heat rise in his face when Ed’s eyes make brief contact before darting away into a darkened corner. He wants to laugh again, if far more bitterly; how is it he can still find it in himself to hope?

Lee shifts her gaze to Oswald, lips pressing together with a glimmer of remorse. She presses two fingers to his neck, holding them there for a few beats before standing and smoothing her skirt with both hands. “I am sorry about all this, Penguin. I promise it’s not permanent.”

“F-fuck you,” Oswald manages, uneasily stretching his jaw and glaring back at her patient stare.

Lee has the gall to laugh, if brusquely, her shoulders dropping as if somehow relieved. She turns on her heel, coat billowing behind her. “Be seeing you, Ed.”

Ed exhales a grumbling sort of mutter, the incomprehensible words directed at the corner in a way that could easily be for himself.

“I was,” Oswald says tightly, irked by how much effort it takes to lift the arm opposite of Ed and fail to make contact with him. “In the middle of something.”

Ed turns and peers down at him, not unlike years ago when Oswald was in a similar position, if with far more physical pain. “Oh?”

“I had a very sensitive meeting with Jerome Valeska!” Oswald hisses, imagining very hard that he’s poking Ed in his big forehead. He tries to sit up only to barely lift his shoulders, then exhales a frustrated shriek. “I don’t have time for this – this – this typical Ed Nygma Special.”

Ed is quiet a beat, eyes daring away and back, then clears his throat. “Jeremiah.”

Oswald throws out his arm again, very nearly managing to snag his fingers on Ed’s glasses. He drags his teeth against the inside of his lip, slightly more forcefully than he usually might, but not quite enough to taste blood, and forces himself to speak. “What was she talking about, something keeping you from – from what you want,” he swallows, forcing disparaging sneer he doesn’t quite mean. “That dumb you, again?”

“…Partly, yes,” Ed says, his voice stilted like the words were dragged from him, as he stares at some middle distance over Oswald’s chest. “But mostly, she was referring to how I once told her that the Riddler is who I became without you; that I can only be him if I _am_ without you.” He unceremoniously slumps and settles his cheek on Oswald’s chest, the move at odds with his little declaration, as he abruptly presses himself in so close he might be trying to fuse them together. He stares hard at Oswald, eyes dark and ever shark-like, “She was talking about that lie I tell myself.”

Oswald stares back, all too aware of how his breath has turned shallow and very little of the reason is to do with the weight upon his chest.

“Because, really, I’m more the Riddler _with_ you,” Ed continues, suddenly hoarse, digging his cheek harder into Oswald’s sternum while the grip on his nape tightens by a margin.

“And that person she can’t be…” Oswald says quietly, refusing to think about a mounting thudding of his heart that he’s sure Ed has noticed under his ear. “Is me?”

Ed’s response is so quiet it cannot be more than a breath. “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on the twitters[ @ ezlebe](https://twitter.com/ezlebe?lang=en)


End file.
